ELIPHAZ, Bildad and Zophar were very wise men for their times, and they could beautifully reason about faith; but when they were through speaking, with a single word of His lips God the Lord has vanquished them, and imposed on them as punishment, that they should ask that same Job, before whom they had reasoned so unmercifully piously, that he would pray for them.
How it must have cut, as with the blade of a sharp knife through their proud hearts, when the Lord told them: “Let Job pray for you: for him will I accept: lest I deal with you after your folly” (Job 42, 8).
That was it. That very wise Eliphaz, with his friend Bildad and his friend Zophar, could reason that one grew cold under it, but the man could not pray.
And Job could.
Not that Job also in his mortal anxiety allowed no sinful sounds to proceed from his lips. But with all his stammering it had been with Job a matter pertaining to God. Job knew he had committed no crime. He did not understand as yet the mystery of the suffering of the righteous.
So it seemed to him that God had unjustly punished him. And that Job could not brook. His God was just, of this he was sure. But why did not God make this riddle plain to him? That was what all his trouble was about. Job rebelled with all his soul, but what was at stake with him was the living God.
And this was the difference from his reasoning friends. They knew their little lesson by heart. Suffering was punishment. Job was in bitter affliction; therefore Job was undergoing severe retribution. Punishment was proportionate to one’s sin. So Job, who was punished in an examplary manner, must also have committed examplary sin. And, as in anguish of soul Job was pining away, they counted this out upon their fingers before him.
O, those cold, barren reasoners!
And then they called themselves his friends!
And then it was said, that they had come to comfort him!
So they put Job upon the rack.
HAD Job been a narrow, cowardly soul, he would have put up with it.
But such Job was not.
Job found in his heart an invincible courage, with all the seriousness of his God-seeking heart, to challenge that barren, hollow logic-chopping. He resisted them. Writing with pain he put them where they belonged. The web of their reasoning he tore with the lifting of his finger. And if that had to be called comforting, well, he plainly told them, “that they were miserable comforters.” (Job 16, 2).
Furthermore, he added thereto, that if they were seated on the ashheap and he, Job, had come to comfort them, he would have dealt differently by them. “I,” says he, “would heap up no words against you; no, I would not shake my head regarding you; but I would strengthen you by my word.”
And, by this saying, does not Job put his finger upon the wound of this cruel manner of comforting?
Heap up words, yea, this they could do, these comforters without heart. They could deceive themselves by his sorrowful appearances. They could vent their wealth of words on Job, make him hear how piously they could talk, and what beautiful phrases they could string together, and under it all in highness of heart exalt themselves above the sufferer!
And those Bildads and Zophars are still alive.
When your heart is wrenched and your soul bleeds, they come to you with a grave countenance, and make you a discourse a yard long, which is strung together of commonplaces and texts and pious phrases. And this you must hear, till your throat contracts itself, and you long for the moment, that they finally cease their talk, and the end is, that instead of having comforted you, they have made you live through yet one painful moment more in your sorrow and grief.
OH, they who so comfort have never been at school with the Divine Comforter.
They know not the Christus Consolator. They understand not that touching weeping of Jesus over Jerusalem. Cursorily they read, without thought, what is written, that Jesus “was moved with inward compassion,” and “became greatly moved in spirit.” And above all they know not the inner work of the Holy Ghost, that Comforter of the troubled heart. What “divine pity” is, is still a mystery to them.
They speak too much about the Cross, and have sat too little in reverent worship at the foot of that Cross. That God’s Son, Who is Himself God, to comfort us, became flesh, to suffer with us and to suffer for us, by them has never been understood.
And when to a poor soul, that is plunged in mourning and anguish, two comforters enter in, of which one has a tear in the eye, and quietly presses the hand, and keeps silent; and the other holds a beautiful discourse. Then the people of superficialities think in themselves: Oh, the first, he was a great comforter, he never said a word; but the last, he did it beautifully!
But that poor soul in her anguish of heart thought differently. That tear in the eye was sweet unto her. With that gentle pressure of hand something of blessed comfort thrilled in the heart. And when that reasoning person began, ice formed around the heart, and there was relief, when he ended.
No, comforting lies not in words.
Words too can comfort. But one must go differently about it. First the eye must have spoken, and the expression of the face and the warm hand-clasp. And when thus the soul disclosed herself and drew breath again, then first a gentle, whispering word; and when thus the sorrowing soul herself begins to speak, then, yea, further conversation can follow; not with a little lesson learned by rote; not with reasoning ready-made for all who are in sorrow; but with language of the heart.
ALL the difference is, whether you love, or whether you come to pay your compliments. When the sorrow and grief of such a troubled soul leaves you cold, you can minister no comfort; you have no power to do it. For to comfort is to lighten sorrow. And you can lighten no sorrow, when you take no part of that sorrow upon yourself.
To comfort is no hushing with soft talk, but suffering oneself with the sufferer; sharing distress with him who is distressed. With the troubled of soul feeling pain in your own heart.
There is no comforting, where there is no fellowship of heart with heart. Then you whitewash and plaster and paint with pious sounds, but they do not enter in. The heart must open, that comfort may be carried into it, and by your frozen words you close it.
Love is the soul of all real comforting. Forgetting yourself. Thinking of the aggrieved one alone. Entering into the life of anguish. Living along with it. If we may say so, putting up connecting lines, along which the sorrow and the anguish from that troubled soul pass over into your soul, and along which in turn from your heart comfort passes over into the heart of the one so bitterly afflicted.
Not as though there is power in much weeping. O, even as there are two kinds of words, so there are two kinds of tears. There are tears that are shed from heartfelt compassion, and these are few. But there are also tears which rise from the nerves, and these are passionate. The latter affect also the nerves of the afflicted; but the former, deep welled-up tears reflect in their sheen something heavenly for his heart.
Thus not much commotion. Not much clamor. Sorrow is suffered in silence. There is something sacred about it.
Or to say it otherwise. He who comes to bring comfort, must first have prayed for grace to be able to minister comfort. He who comes alone, cannot do it. Only he who with his God enters the tent of affliction, understands of this wondrous comforting the mystery. Heartfelt compassion is never from us. It must always be quickened in our soul by the Lord our God.
But then, also, when this heartfelt pity, when something of this divine compassion has wakened in you, never ask beforehand what you shall say.
Then go in this your strength, and in that hour the Holy Ghost will give you what to say.
And if possible, when you are alone with the bitterly afflicted one, and in the end there has been a full disclosure of heart to heart, kneel down with the troubled of heart before your and his God.
Only as you pray together to the God of all comfort, does the full, rich comforting drop as balsam into the wound, that bleeds.
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